Angels 12
by Ebolafan
Summary: How long can the team's luck hold out when a mission goes wrong? Jack and Samantha centric.
1. Sand

A/N:Beta'd by the wonderful Azar Darkstar.

* * *

Every trip was like a little death, and Jack O'Neill was so sick of death. 

Almost losing one of his own could do that.

He stumbled slightly as he emerged from the event horizon; he would never grow completely accustomed to gate travel. One moment he was standing at the base of a giant sand dune, the heat beating down like a living thing bent on domination, then a step into the wavering event horizon, and he simply ceased to be.

From the snippets of conversation overhead between Carter and the base eggheads, he knew that the gates destroyed his physical body and allowed his essence to stream between them, making a new O'Neill on the other end. It wasn't as if he felt any different. There was no tale-tell sign that he was not the original copy of his parents' making.

'_If I don't feel any different, is there really a difference?_' God knew it would take bigger brains than his to answer that question.

He felt, rather than heard, the arrival of his team appearing on the ramp behind him. The 'wall o' water', as Kawalski had christened the visible event horizon, was a jealous mistress, reluctant to free the bodies which travelled within. Those scientists who have never experienced the gate denied that the SG teams could feel it, but Jack knew the sensation of leaving the horizon was akin to swimming through Jell-O.

'Breaking from a cocoon,' Carter had once tried to describe it to a fellow physicist. Daniel Jackson, leaning a bit on the mystical side, insisted it was a rebirth.

The voice of an unseen vengeful deity blared throughout the cavernous embarkation room. "Welcome home, SG-1. Report for debriefing at 08:00."

He heard a groan from his 2IC. "Why can't we ever go to a planet that's on the same time zone?"

"You know, I've suggested at the last few briefings to hang a clock right there, showing local time." Daniel Jackson waved vaguely in the direction of the glassed in Command and Control deck that overlooked the gate area. "Right now if you asked me what time it was, I couldn't even guess."

The two moved past their CO, oblivious to the fact he was still standing off to the side of the large metal ring.

"Teal'c, what time do you think it is?" Daniel turned to the fourth member of their team.

"It is time to prepare for the briefing with General Hammond," he answered matter-of-factly.

Daniel snorted, clasping Teal'c on the back. "Come on, let's hit the showers before _they_ do." He gestured toward the members of SG-3, who had literally stepped through minutes before SG-1's appearance. The team was still in the process of handing over their weapons and sample packs to the decon and munitions techs.

"It's 06:30," O'Neill whispered softly to himself. Years of standing watch posts at all hours had gifted him with an unerring sense of time. He did not need to glance at a nearby computer monitor as most of the other travellers did in order to orient to what has become known as 'SGC Standard Time.'

"Sir, are you all right?" Carter has heard the barely audible reply from her CO, and she turned to see a far-away look in his eyes.

She waited for him to catch up, and drop his gear at the collection station before pivoting and walking with him toward the main hallway. Unlike SG-3, their team routinely skipped the queue at the decon/munitions station.

Just one of the perks of being the best.

Snapping out of his reverie, O'Neill flashed a grimace at Carter. "Yeah, just need some coffee," he grumbled, "...and aspirin, Carter, _lots_ of aspirin..."

Their voices trailed off as the heavy metal blast door swung into the closed position in their wake.

Murphy, the Patron Saint of SG-1, was in full force as Carter, Jackson, and Teal'c descended upon the locker room. As per O'Neill's unofficial standing orders, Daniel Jackson and Teal'c bided their time in the corridor opposite the entrance to the shower and dressing facility. It made far more sense to allow Captain Carter first access to the showers for ten minutes than to make her wait on the male members of SG-1 plus any other SG teams who arrived after them.

Daniel slouched against the concrete wall, the welcome cold leaching through his beige jacket and cotton tee shirt. Looking straight through the locker room's open archway, he could see Carter's open locker, the shampoo/body wash missing. Across the way, Teal'c was staring off into space.

If today's events had affected the stalwart man, he gave no outward sign. Daniel, on the other hand was under no such self-restraint.

Removing his salt-splashed glasses and running a hand through the damp spikes of sweat-caked hair, Daniel reflected on a mission gone horribly wrong.

For too long their luck had held. They were SG-1, the flagship team operating under the legendary Irish luck of Jonathan "Jack" O'Neill. They were the best, the brightest, and invincible. And today they had almost paid for that arrogance with blood.

Breathing deeply of the crisp, recycled and scrubbed air, he allowed it to cleanse away the acrid grit as he recalled the last six hours.

He christened the planet 'Dune', after Frank Herbert's classic sci-fi novel. His caution to beware of sand worms drew a blank look from O'Neill, and Teal'c querried, "Daniel Jackson, we have only just arrived. Have you knowledge of this world?"

Daniel's look of mild annoyance vanished as Sam Carter chimed in with, "The beginning is such a delicate time..." drawing a delighted grin from him.

Throughout the long hours spent exploring the sun baked ruins, they continued to trade lines from the movie in rapid exchanges until O'Neill called for a cease-fire.

Shouldering his pack, preparing to move out to the last set of ruins in the vicinity, Daniel couldn't resist a final call, "The spice must flow."

He saw Sam suppress a brief smile, which even a quick glance over at her Commanding Officer standing on the reed walkway couldn't eradicate completely.

Then it happened. One minute he could see her blue eyes dancing in barely concealed merriment, her lips parting to reply to him as she moved to regroup with others, then she was gone.

"Major Carter!" Teal'c called out, levelling his staff weapon at the unseen enemy.

"The sand – she's in the sand!" Daniel yelled shrilly, plunging off the woven reed walkway and into the sand drifts. He promptly sunk up to his chest in blisteringly hot sand and gravel, before his boots rested against solid ground once more.

"Daniel, don't move!" O'Neill's command rang out with the force of a rifle crack, as he slipped out of his backpack. "Teal'c… with me," he panted, stretching out prone and wriggling away from the reed matting on his belly.

Teal'c, also realising what had befallen his team-mate, did the same, trying to disperse his weight as evenly against the surface as possible. Daniel was surprised when Teal'c tossed his staff weapon toward him.

"Daniel Jackson, mark her position as precisely as possible. _And do not come any closer_," he emphasised just then his arm plunged through the brittle sand and salt crust, a sand funnel forming quickly under his chest and shoulders. Teal'c recoiled in surprise, and began to cautiously skirt the air pocket.

"Where, Daniel?" O'Neill's voice was deceptively calm as his eyes scanned the unblemished expanse of sand extending outward from the temple walls to the horizon.

"About eight feet to your right," Daniel panted, "just about... there!" He carefully hefted the staff weapon and tossed it a few feet beyond O'Neill. He heard the muted thud as it hit.

O'Neill reached the area indicated by the staff weapon, but there was no sign of Carter, no tale-tell depression to mark the boundaries of the pitfall. Sand from the dunes above had filled the void, burying Carter without a trace.

He began to dig frantically with his bare hands, thrusting his arms down into the blistering sand hoping to feel her body under the surface.

Daniel unconsciously held his breath, visualising the weight compressing her chest. In sharp contrast to the world above, Sam would be entombed in darkness, sound muffled, the heat of the sand burning even through the thick cloth of her BDU. Despite the incredible heat of the afternoon sun, he shivered thinking about what Sam was experiencing. She had literally been buried alive.

A spasm of terror raced through his body as he saw O'Neill stop digging, his hands clasped as if in prayer atop the sand. Fearing the worst, Daniel choked back the impulse to scream at him to keep trying. This couldn't be happening, not to them.

He stared in shock, as Jack O'Neill raised his gaze skyward for a moment that seemed to last an eternity. Whether in anger or supplication, Daniel could not tell. Then, remarkably, he saw the Colonel resume digging at an even more frenetic pace. Carter's hand was sticking out of the sand.

* * *

When she had felt the ground give way beneath her boots, she'd managed to raise her right arm above her head before the dune had come down to seal the pit. Her left arm was helplessly plastered to her side, no chance on reaching across to key her radio. They'd never find her in time. Already the small amount of air around her was dissipating, being absorbed into the mix of sand and pebbles throughout the drift. 

Carter's mind raced – '_They don't know where I am_.' She replayed the last seconds in her mind's eye.

The Colonel had been off by the temple wall. She remembered his back being toward her, the dusty black field pack in contrast to the beige and olive BDU favoured by her Commanding Officer.

Teal'c had been somewhere off to her left, maybe even still around the corner of the western wall. He would not have seen her.

'_Daniel saw me, I know he was looking at me,_' she prayed fervently. Her thoughts were cut off by a sudden coughing fit. '_Bad move, Captain_,' she chastised hysterically, as she struggled to suck in the last of the usable air.

Fine grains of dust coated her nose and throat. It was so hard to draw a breath, even as her stomach rebelled from the grit and the feeling of nausea compelled the air in her lungs to be expelled. The retching made her light headed. In desperation she worked her head a few inches downward, and gripped the cotton collar of her jacket between her teeth. Allowing the fabric to become wet with spit she was able to filter out the larger of the dust particles. Slowly she felt the black edges of unconsciousness recede as she fought to draw air through the MacGyvered filter.

'_Okay... just bought a few more minutes... need to let them know where to look..._' The sand gave way as she tried to move her extended right arm. '_Good_,' she breathed silently against the cotton bit in her mouth. Exerting as much as possible without the faintness returning, her arm began to move.

'_Small circles... small circles..._' she chanted silently. There was no way to tell how far down the collapsing sand had carried her. Risking the intense pain of the sand, through slitted eyes she saw a dark orange glow. '_Must be closer to the top than I thought. What the--?_' her hand was clasped hard in a familiar grip.

Hands followed her arm downward, shoving aside huge handfuls of sand. His fingernails felt as if they were gouging strips of flesh from her arm. Carter realised that it was the air kissing the friction burns as he worked to free her. The light became stronger; suddenly O'Neill's hands were roughly caressing her face and neck as he cleared the clinging soil from around her head.


	2. Earth

Observing O'Neill, Daniel realised he had been holding his breath again. Once more – SG-1's luck seemed to be holding. A military-issue olive drab jacket suddenly obscured his view of O'Neill's rescue efforts.

'_So much for 'DanielJackson - do you require assistance?_', Daniel thought wryly as strong arms grabbed him by the fabric of his jacket and hauled him half-way out of the pit.

"Okay-okay, I got it!" he called out a little more shrilly than intended. It felt as though Teal'c were wrenching one arm out of its socket, and Daniel saw the man's other hand reaching for his belt. Now was not the time to explain the concept of wedgies to Teal'c.

"Very well, I will go assist Captain Carter." If possible, Teal'c sounded slightly miffed at Daniel's refusal of help.

Panting, Daniel pushed against the sand until he could flop onto the surface. Looking over toward O'Neill, he could see that Sam's shoulders were now free, and Teal'c was slithering over there slowly. '_When in Rome..._' Daniel grimaced as he set out on his stomach, pulling himself across the treacherous expanse of blistering sand.

After several pitfalls, Teal'c joined O'Neill. Daniel managed to arrive on his heels just in time to grab Teal'c's boots as the funnel side collapsed, and the large man started to slide in.

"Whoa – watch it!" O'Neill yelled as their scrabbling sent a new cascade of sand down over Carter and him.

Daniel, out of breath and sweating profusely, helped Teal'c away from the unstable edges of the pit. Both men ended up flat on their backs, gasping for air.

"Let... let's not do that again," Daniel panted.

"Agreed," came Teal'c's usual understatement.

Being the lighter of the two, Daniel rolled over and slithered back to the edge of the pitfall, watching Jack O'Neill clear the sand away from Carter's head again.

"Can I help?"

"Yes. Go away," came the terse reply from the Colonel.

"Right." Crawling back from the edge, he patted Teal'c's leg and the two men made their way back to the safety of the temple walls and reed matting.

Once O'Neill had her head cleared again, he stopped to catch his breath, laying his head on outstretched arm that was still clutching her hand and wrapping his other fist in the material of her jacket.

"I was kidding about the arm wrestling, sir," Carter panted.

O'Neill raised his head, snorting at the Captain's comment.

"We'll get you out in no ti-" Jack stopped speaking abruptly. Captain Carter's eyes had rolled upwards, leaving only the whites exposed. "Daniel, get over here!" he bellowed.

Their resident archaeologist bit off his usual sarcastic reply. This was no time to point out Jack's inconsistent orders, Carter was still buried up to her neck, and the sun was at its zenith. "Give me your canteen," he asked the man sitting beside him in the shadow of the wall.

There was no sound from his teammates, and as he crept back to the lip of the funnel, Daniel saw why O'Neill was no longer digging. The depression was unstable. The slightest movement brought down more sand, covering Carter again. Jack lay unmoving, head down the slope of the sinkhole, calling out to Carter. She wasn't responding. "Here, Jack," he called the man's attention to the canteen of water dangling above him.

"Grab my boots," O'Neill ordered.

Scooting precariously closer, O'Neill forced water from Teal'c's canteen into Carter's mouth as she moaned in protest. Peering over the tops of Jack's boots, Daniel recognised the reddened flesh of her arm, and slurred speech as signs of heatstroke. If the rest of them were overheating in the open desert, Sam was in much worse shape, buried in hot sand under the same sun. She wouldn't last much longer.

"Jack, we've got to get her out," Daniel called down.

"I'm open to suggestions."

Hearing Teal'c move up behind him, Daniel ventured, "What if we form a chain and Sam can climb over us?"

"She's barely conscious. Anyone besides Carter got rope in their packs?" O'Neill's query was answered by a large belt and an olive jacket hitting the sand beside him.

"Okay, Plan B," he accepted, pulling loose his own belt. He tied the two together, and then looped the buckle end around Carter's exposed forearm, and tossed the other end of it up to Daniel. "Keep it tight, Daniel – don't let her slip if the ground gives way again."

He worked the jacket down, under her arm, and then knotted the sleeves on the opposite side of her neck making a sling. Stripping off his own jacket, he forced it under the knot and gripped it tightly to further anchor her.

"Teal'c, PULL!"

Daniel quickly moved away from O'Neill's boots, allowing the larger man to take up position. It was tedious work. Every few inches gained, Teal'c would need to rest, Daniel would take up the slack on the belt, and more sand would pour down. Jack used the rest breaks to encourage Carter to help extract herself as much as she could with nothing to push against except the yielding sand and gravel of the pit.

After forty-five gruelling minutes, Sam was far enough out for Jack and Teal'c to grab onto her and climb out of the pit.

Noting that neither Daniel or Teal'c had encountered an air pocket on the second trip from the temple, O'Neill pulled Carter to her feet, and half-supported, half-carried her along their route to the meagre shade of the temple wall.

The team sat for an hour, passing the canteens back and forth. O'Neill's normally craggy face was grey and gaunt with dehydration, but still he forced sip after sip of the precious water into Carter, ignoring his own need. He tore a strip of the black cotton from his tee-shirt and dampened it to clean away the grit from her face. "Better?" he asked, carefully clearing as much away from her nostrils as possible.

"Sir, you need to drink something," she responded, noticing how hard it was for him to speak through parched lips.

His reply was drowned out by another coughing fit. Captain Samantha Carter could honestly say that the sand hurt just as much coming up out of her throat and lungs as it had being sucked in.

O'Neill placed his arm around her shoulders and held the canteen steady as she drained the remaining water. She touched his hand, focussing on the Colonel's swollen, bleeding nails and knuckles, turning his palm over to examine the abrasions. Gently, he pulled it away, and swiped her across the nose with a fingertip, as if to say, _it was nothing_.

"You okay, Sam?" Daniel asked in concern, offering the canteen that he and Teal'c had been sharing to O'Neill. "Here, this is the last of it."

"You need to drink, sir," she managed to gasp before her gravelly voice dissolved into another round of coughing. When it was over, her head dropped against his shoulder, shaking with exhaustion.

"Stop talking, Captain, that's an order." To forgo any further response, he raised the metal canister to his lips and took a few swallows of the spit-warm liquid, while picturing how good an ice cold beer from his fridge would taste right about now.

She accepted the next sip without resistance, content to watch the shadows lengthen around her, and feeling the reassuring presence of the man beside her. His shoulder was a sharp, bony pressure under her cheek, but as long as he didn't object, she was content to lean against him and conserve her strength for the trek ahead.

Later, as the edge of the alien sun dipped lower on the horizon, the gathering shadows turned the desert a deep purple and blue.

"Dial it up, Daniel," O'Neill rasped, staggering to his feet with Carter still held at his side.

Across the bruised landscape, four weary travellers headed home, as if this were the end of a normal day's work, but with a sinking feeling in the pits of their stomachs. O'Neill, normally a man of few words on a mission, did not speak on the journey back, seemingly lost in reflection. Daniel noticed his eyes on Carter, and did not want to give a penny for _those_ thoughts. Loss and grief, he usually wore them like a cloak – well-worn and comfortable with the misery. Not this time. They had come too close to re-opening old wounds.

The twilight's reign was interrupted by an ancient roar, and for a moment the lightning of the Gods briefly flashed once more across the desolate sands.

* * *

Daniel Jackson's remembrance was interrupted by the descent of SG-3 upon the locker room. '_Here come the Jackasses on Parade, and Finch is the lead ass._' He tensed, ready for the onslaught, and wishing fervently that Jack would hurry up and make an appearance. 

"Ah, man. I got chiggers or something all over me," Devlin whined.

"What you want is to build up a good crust all over you so that even the fucking mosquitoes can't bite through. And for God's sake, don't shave. That just gives the sombitches more places to bite you," was Webb's less-than-hygienic advise.

For the thousandth time, Daniel thanked the Almighty that he was assigned to SG-1. He would never fit in with a traditional military team, and certainly never be accepted by people such as Finch. He stood up and stepped into the doorway, blocking their path.

"Hey, boys, look what we have here. Indiana Jones waiting to shower with a real man!" Finch smirked at the archaeologist.

"Carter's still in there, hold up." Out of the corner of his eye, Daniel could see Teal'c had also regained his feet, crossed through the locker room from the other entrance, and was now standing just behind him in the doorway offering silent support.

"And that means what to me, exactly?" Captain Finch asked, purposely baiting the archaeologist. "Stand down, men – 'Science Boy' is giving the orders now."

Aronson and Dumas joined in with the guffaws, and retraced their steps in the corridor, leaving their CO, First Officer, and Beckwith to stare down SG-1's non-military half.

Jack heard the boisterous chatter erupt into an angry exchange between Daniel and Captain Finch as he approached the corner with a pilfered, half-eaten apple in hand.

"Call off your dog, Jackson," Webb chimed in, eyeing Teal'c's menacing stature.

"You will not pass," was Teal'c's only response.

"Move it, Bowser. I don't want to hurt you." Webb drew up to his full height.

"You will not," Teal'c assured the taller man. "I do not promise to do the same."

"Look, Colonel O'Neill wants us, **all** of us, to wait here until the room is clear," Daniel tried reasoning one more time with the men who simply didn't want to listen.

"That's funny, I don't see **Colonel ** O'Neill here," Finch replied, sarcastically.

"Try turning around," O'Neill said quietly.


End file.
